In August

In August ache was ageing on bare peepal trees

picked by the pointed beaks of notorious crows 
that took shade on a hot summer afternoon

In August you visited friends living in countries
with strange names

while I confided in strangers

whose names I tried and memorise.

In August you were wearing wings

while catching a flight

or sailing on escalators
on business trips that could be skipped
for a rendezvous with me,

while I leaned listlessly on lifts

and rode on rickety buses with peeling paints.

In August I dressed

in a nine to five folly

to repress solitude's spinster act.

In August we e-mailed

and you called daily

telepathy was the transition

in our voices so vulnerable,

In August defiance doomed to an early death

marvelled at how a continent

and a six hour flight would never let us meet

one I wanted, and that you didn't.